


the five times jean sees marco's tattoo and the one time marco sees his.

by jumpforjo



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: 5 Times, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Fluff, M/M, One Shot, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 22:13:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5515235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jumpforjo/pseuds/jumpforjo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean believes soulmates are bullshit. That is, until a rather cute, freckled barista has a strikingly familiar tramp stamp.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the five times jean sees marco's tattoo and the one time marco sees his.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [itsallaboutflowermetaphors](https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsallaboutflowermetaphors/gifts).



**one** .

Soulmates are, according to Jean Kirschtein, complete bullshit. And due to that exact sentiment, he wears long sleeves at all times and most of the time he finds himself subconsciously tugging the sleeves down to the knuckle of his thumb for safety. His tattoo bloomed at the usual age of ten right on the inside of his wrist, it depicted four colored dots: mustard, teal, navy, and burgundy. 

The Wall is his caffeine dealer of choice and he finds his way in nearly every day for a warm cup of coffee. On this particular, fateful wednesday afternoon, there’s a new barista. Jean briefly considers simply leaving, new baristas are prone to screw things up, but the withdrawal headache pounding in the back of his skull and he decided that maybe it was okay if it tasted like shit. 

When he’s only a person away from ordering, the new barista bends over to grab something out of a low cabinet. At first, Jean is checking out the guy’s ass because he has no shame. Then, he’s promptly forgetting how to breathe and blink as his eyes train in on four colored dots: mustard, teal, navy, and burgundy, across the barista’s lower back, just above his waistband. Four colored dots that are strikingly similar to the ones Jean is frantically pulling his sleeve over. 

And, oh shit, he’s supposed to be ordering. The barista is looking at him expectantly. “Black coffee to go!” Is all he manages to squeak out, slapping a ten on the counter with a rushed “Keep the change!” 

Way to keep it cool, Kirschtein. He sought safety in a group of people awaiting various caffeinated concoctions. “Black coffee?” Soulmate barista called out, a hint of uncertainty in his voice, as if he thought Jean might run out before his caffeine fix was ready. Okay, maybe that wasn’t entirely unreasonable to think. 

Regardless, Jean avoided eye contact and collected his coffee, dumping an ungodly amount of sugar in the to-go cup and practically bolting out of the shop. He swore to never go back.

  
  


**two** .

Two days later, Jean finds himself back in line at The Wall. 

So much for never going back, huh? In his defense, he never got his supposed soulmates name! Even if it was all bullshit, he should at least know that much, right? Sure, he’s wearing considerably nicer clothes this time but that’s  _ only _ because he doesn’t want to be recognized by the guy. Just in case. 

This time, Jean is in during a dead zone of the day and there’s no line. Barista soulmate is smiling at him from behind the counter. “Hi, how may I help you?” If he recognizes Jean, he doesn’t let it on.

Jean is pretty certain he has his mouth gaping open stupidly at the menu and quickly snaps it closed. “Well, I’m usually boring but I feel like I should try something more exciting. What’s your favorite?” Barista soulmate grins at him. He has freckles. Shit.

“I really like the white mocha! It’s also what I’m best at making since I’m still pretty new, so there’s that.” Who smiles that genuinely in a customer service job? 

“Then a white mocha it is…” Jean trails off and frantically searched for the guy’s name tag. He was gonna be so suave. 

“Marco.” Another genuine smile. “Name tag hasn’t come in yet. One white mocha for…”

“Jean. The French way, like the pants.” That certainly makes more sense in his head.

“For Jean, coming right up.” Marco punches the information into the register before turning around to start on his drink. His white shirt is stretched just enough over his lower back to hint at the colored dots Jean know stain his skin. He briefly considers fleeing the shop, he  _ knew _ coming in was a bad idea. Instead, he decides to Man Up and drink his white mocha in the shop even if he ordered it to go. Soulmates were bullshit anyway, why should it affect him?

When he gets the cup it’s marked with his name and a crudely drawn, cartoonish pair of pants. 

  
  


**three.**

It’s barely been twenty four hours by the time Jean finds himself in front of The Wall’s register again. His eyes settle on Sasha’s familiar face, his pre-barista soulmate favorite barista. He decides she should also invest in freckles. 

Sure, he never asked for Marco’s schedule, but for some reason Jean expects to see him on the other side of the counter. Practicing a great deal of self control (or being entirely to nervous to go through with it), Jean does not ask where Marco is. No, Jean the Detached simply orders a plain latte for there so he can get the pretty latte art. 

He goes to find a table and easily spots the ray of freckled sunshine that is Marco. He is seated at a table with two women, one with long blonde hair and the other with dark hair cropped about her shoulders. Jean can’t tell much more about them since they’re faced the other way.

Strategically, he chooses a table just near enough to eavesdrop but not close enough to draw any attention. Jean the Detached becomes Jean the Super Spy. 

“The first time we met, I was drunk at a party and Krista was DD. She found my tattoo because she held my hair back while I vomited. It was all very romantic, I assure you.” The women are leaning in towards each other, as if being acted on my some gravitational force of disgusting love. 

“I just feel like I’m getting old, you know? Sure, I’m only 24 but the average person finds their soulmate by 20! Or at least some friends of friends that know someone with a similar tattoo, maybe it’s the same? But no! I’m gonna die alone.” Jean stiffens up and tugs on his sleeve urgently, as if it’s not already covering the damned mark. 

“Sweetie, you know that’s not true. And anyway, why not try to find someone in the meantime? it doesn’t hurt to be a little experienced for your one and only.” Her fingers were absentmindedly tapping a rhythm into her glass. Jean’s palms begin to sweat. 

“What if I never find one? Maybe my match died, it’s not unheard of! Or decided they didn’t like me! Maybe I’ve passed them a million times and had no idea because their tattoo is as hard to find as mine!” He groans and drops his head into his hands. “I’m sorry, I know I’m whining. It’s just that Mikasa just found hers, some girl named Annie. They’re perfect,  and that’s all-”

Jean doesn’t hear the rest because he leaves. He avoids bolting so he doesn’t draw any attention to himself and this time he  _ swears _ to himself that he’s never coming back. Sasha calls his name for his latte only moments after the door swings shut behind him. 

  
  


**four.**

His self control lasts about a month. Jean  _ knows _ this is a bad idea, that he’s going to break all of his principles. But he should at least get to know the guy better. Sure, he thought soulmates were bullshit but Marco certainly didn’t. 

Marco is behind the counter again and Jean can’t tell if the drop in his stomach is relief or dread. Maybe both. There are two people in front of him and he takes the time to actually  _ look _ at Marco. Sure, he has adorable freckles, but he also has a button nose and full lips. He has a square jaw and his hair looks so, so soft. His head sits atop broad shoulders and the teal of his shirt complements his dark skin. Fuck, he’s  _ beautiful _ . Get a load of that genuine smile, look at those kind eyes! Coming in was a terrible idea, he decides. 

“How can I help you, Jean, the French way, like the pants?” Oh god, he  _ remembers. _

“Shit, um, a giant white mocha?” He really, really has to stop panicking. 

“I’m not sure we have giant as a size but how does this cup look?” He pull the biggest one in the stack up and Jean nods. “You seem stressed out, take it on the house.” No one is this kind, maybe he’s a serial killer. Jean’s soul mate would be a serial killer, huh?

“When’s your break?” Traitor mouth! 

“Oh, um, it’s a slow day so we just kind of pick one. I’m working a long shift so I get thirty minutes.” Suddenly, Marco’s eyes widen, “Not that I want to impose on your space! Sorry, it sounded like… I shouldn’t have assumed.” Jean must have made a face or something. He probably looked constipated, his mom says he looks constipated when he’s flustered.

“No! Um, it would be nice to have some company… while I… drink my coffee. Yeah.” Suave. Marco’s shoulders visibly lost tension. “Of course, let me grab a sandwich, do you want one? Mikasa didn’t use hers this morning and said I could have it.”

“Oh! Um, sure! Yeah, that would be good. I’ll… go pick a table?” He doesn’t wait for a response and sets his bag down at a table for two by a window. According to Armin, he looks best in natural light. Not that he wants to look good for Marco, he just wants to look good in general. Who doesn’t want to look good? Exactly. Nothing to do with Marco. 

Ten minutes later, Marco walked over balancing to plates with sandwiches and two steaming mugs. Jean pops up and grabs the mugs before there is a rather unfortunate spill. 

“Thank you, I still haven’t mastered carrying an obnoxious amount of food and drink. Sasha can comfortably serve a table of four with no tray, she says it took her two years to learn.” Jean decides that he likes Marco’s voice. He also decides that if he’s next on Marco’s serial killer hit list, he might not mind as long as that voice is the last thing he hears. That’s probably how he gets his victims! “...Jean?”

Oh, god. Marco is talking to him and he’s fantasizing about his inevitable death by charming serial killer. “I’m sorry, I, uh. I spaced out. What were you saying?” Another genuine fucking smile.

“I was asking if you’d like the chicken club or the veggie sandwich. I didn’t know if you were a vegetarian so I just grabbed one of each!” Maybe he should recheck the tattoo, there’s no way this guy is supposed to be the perfect match for Jean. Actually, it’s the other way around. Jean is a selfish asshole with no social skills, Marco is a sweet and lovely angel that’s excelling at social interaction right before Jean’s undeserving eyes. “I like both of them, so you don’t have to worry about disappointing me or anything!” 

“Oh! Um, if you don’t care I guess I’ll take the chicken one?” He prays for the swift cool down of the white mocha in front of him, maybe caffeine will turn him into a functioning human being. Marco slides the plate with the chicken sandwich to him and he murmurs a quiet, “Thanks.” 

“So, are you a student or anything?” Marco asks and Jean believes that he might actually want to know the answer, he isn’t just asking to be polite.

“Student, I’m trying to get into law school. Dunno what my undergrad degree should be though. Um, what about you?” He can’t stop thinking about the four colored dots adorning Marco’s lower back or the matching ones lining his wrist under the dark sleeve of his jacket. 

They talk through Marco’s entire break, and Jean feels his attention split most of the time. He asks if Marco wants to catch a movie sometime and Marco agrees. His self control is a thing of the past. 

  
  


**five.**

They’ve been talking for at least three months now and Jean is saved only by the grace of Marco’s politeness. Jean can tell that Marco wants to ask about his tattoo, they hadn’t been hanging out long when Marco brought up the subject. It had been easy enough to deflect, Jean said it was a sore subject and Marco hadn’t pressed any further. Granted, his deadbeat Dad was his Mom’s soul mate, but that hadn’t stopped the man from walking out. So it really was a sore subject, just maybe not the whole truth at all. 

He’s slowly becoming comfortable in Marco’s apartment. It’s not so much a foreign space as somewhere to unwind with a really good friend that he might maybe want to kiss. A lot. Which was never in the plan, if he’s to be totally honest. The plan  _ was _ for Marco to realize that Jean wasn’t worth his time and help cut another soul from the stupid tattoo thing. Unfortunately, it had backfired spectacularly. 

At the moment, Jean is becoming one with Marco’s couch as they start another round of Mario Kart. They’ve been at it for at least three hours and Jean’s only beat Marco  _ once _ and it was definitely a fluke, or Marco letting him win. Maybe both. 

Mario Kart is a lot of screaming from Jean’s end and a lot of laughing from Marco’s. He falls into Marco’s lap a few times when he loses and Marco pats his hair. Jean is not in deep at all. He can stop whenever he wants!

After they finish up what has to be at  _ least _ the 20th tournament that day, Marco pulls himself off the couch, much to Jean’s dismay. It’s  _ cold _ now. “C’mon, it’s dinner time! We can’t vegetate forever.” Marco grins at him, all sunshine and sweetness, and stretches his arms up.

First, Jean’s eyes are drawn to the glorious, freckled sliver of hip and tum. Then, less fortunately, his eyes are drawn to a set of four colored dots that make his stomach churn. 

They never failed to make him uncomfortable. His mind drilled into panic mode. 

“Shit, did you say dinner time? I totally forgot I’m supposed to have dinner with my Mom tonight!” He starts frantically gathering shit, his phone, his wallet, his keys. “I’m so sorry, um I’ll text you!” Marco still looks like he was hit by a whirlwind as Jean rushes out the door. Shit. 

  
  


**one (again).**

Marco isn’t entirely certain of when hanging out with Jean goes from fun new friend to bordering on dates. He won’t lie- he has a  _ huge _ crush on one Jean Kirschtein, but he promised himself that he would save everything for his soulmate. When he was only ten his father left after finding his soulmate. His parents got married under the impression that they would never find their soulmates and knew that they loved each other very much. Marco had to watch his mother be torn to shreds over it and decided to avoid the pain altogether. 

But by god if Jean isn’t tempting. Once Marco gets past the dorky, easily flustered exterior, he finds  a dorky and witty interior. He finds a guy willing to play Mario Kart for three hours straight and a guy willing to wait an hour because something went wrong in clean up and Marco doesn’t want to walk home in the cold. He finds self deprecating humor and under-his-breath witty retorts. He finds fluffy hair and surprisingly well-kept eyebrows. 

It certainly doesn’t help that Jean has, on multiple occasions, tried to kiss him. He groans softly from his side of the bed, blinking at the red numbers of his alarm clock. 2 am. 

He rolls over to the sight of an endearingly disheveled Jean. His mouth is hanging slightly open and one hand is curled to his chest with the other draped over his head. It’s quite the sleeping position and Marco feels a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. His eyes, though, are drawn to the wrist of the draped arm. The teal is what catches his eye initially, and then he realizes that Jean always has long sleeves, even inside where it’s warm. Even when he’s asleep. 

Taking a deep breath, Marco tries to shift closer without waking Jean. He tilts his head to get a better look and confirm that, yes, those would happen to be the exact dots that grace his lower back. His heart rate picks up and he can’t tell if the rushing in his veins is joy or rage. He supposes it might be both. 

First, Marco freezes. Then, his body kicks into autopilot. He shakes Jean awake, not gently but not violently. Jean’s eyes are barely open, “W-what? Is everything,” he yawns, “Is everything okay?” He glances over at the clock and Marco watches his eyebrows draw in.

“What the fuck.” Marco is almost certain he’s never said fuck in front of Jean. “What the  _ fuck. _ ”

“There’s not ‘nuff coffee in me,” is all Jean can manage, another yawn tugging his face unattractively.

“I cannot  _ believe _ you! You didn’t  _ tell  _ me! You knew and you didn’t tell me!” That gets Jean’s attention. 

“Knew wha-?”

“We have matching tattoos! We have matching fucking tattoos, Jean what the  _ hell! _ ” Marco isn’t entirely sure why he’s so mad. He can’t tell if he’s hurt that Jean didn’t tell him because they could’ve been happy for months or if he’s reacting to the possibility that Jean was toying with him and the feelings are actually unrequited. Either way, he’s pulling the covers off of Jean and there might be tears in his eyes. Might. 

“I- wait! Marco, I can explain! Let’s talk about it in the morning!” It’s almost impressive how quickly Jean is completely awake. “You don’t understand.” 

“No, I really don’t.” There’s a quiet venom in his tone that Marco doesn’t expect. “Just get out. At least for tonight.” He needs to process everything on his own.

For a moment, Jean looks like he’s going to protest, like he’s going to say something, but he doesn’t. Instead, Marco watches Jean give him a measured stare before quietly gathering his things and leaving. Marco doesn’t fall asleep until five a.m. 

He wakes up at 9:38 (according to his clock) to loud rapping on his door. Still not completely awake, he stumbles towards the door, rubbing his eyes. Through the peephole he spots Jean bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet. 

Memories of the night start flooding in and he’s not sure if he wants to open the door. Taking a deep breath, Marco leans his forehead into the sturdy wood of the door. He doesn’t yell, why did he yell at Jean? What a dick move. Jean is probably just at the apartment to pick up something he forgot. 

After a moment he gives in and swings the door open, and apology at the tip of his tongue.

Before he can speak, though, his eyes fall on a bouquet of flowers. A bouquet made up of yellow, blue, and red flowers, almost the exact same shades as their tattoo. “I’m really sorry I didn’t t-tell you.” Jean is stammering, cheeks bright red. “I, uh, I didn’t really know when to bring it up because I avoided it and I don’t really believe in the soulmate mess. Well, I guess sort of? No, I don’t. But I do like you!” Jean shakes his head as if to refocus himself. “What I’m trying to say is that I really, really like and that. Well, that I’m really sor-” 

Jean is cut off by Marco grabbing his face and kissing him right on the mouth. He’s terrible at it, but Jean isn’t complaining. In fact, quite the opposite, Jean is returning the kiss with an abundance of enthusiasm, it feels like a breath of fresh air even though it tastes like morning breath and burnt coffee. 

“So, uh, are we good? or?” Marco is grinning wide and takes the flowers from Jean’s hands. 

“I think we might just be okay.” 

**Author's Note:**

> this was written for the JeanMarco Secret Santa 2k15! I could not have been more excited to receive this prompt, and I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing <3
> 
> many many thanks to angie (elfabetsoup) and lev (dankwitch) for reading over this and letting me vent out some ideas! also, special thanks to angie for the magical tramp stamp idea.


End file.
